


Pavor Nocturnus

by CaelumLapis



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, Spoilers: General and specific for all episodes up to Season Two’s Prodigal.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaelumLapis/pseuds/CaelumLapis
Summary: It’s strange, to have Lex there.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Pavor Nocturnus

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer is, I don’t own them, not even a little.

The fading scents of coffee and lemon-scented soap drift through the living room, the sounds of running water accompanying them. Clark can hear the faint mechanical whine of the refrigerator and the softer sound of his mother’s voice, humming something that tugs at his memory. His father steps into the room, several pillows and blankets balanced in his arms. He sets them down on the couch and eyes Clark for a moment with a careful, prying expression that suggests they should talk soon about the guest upstairs. 

“Listen, son. I know Lex is a friend of yours, but I don’t trust him.” 

Clark drops to sit beside the blankets, glancing up at his dad and wondering if Lex is listening from somewhere upstairs. His father’s face takes a softer line, and he pauses, as if considering what he wants to say. 

It’s strange, to have Lex there. He thinks back to the knock at the door as he reached the bottom of the stairs, the crisp rustle of paper in the living room. Lex stood stiffly on the porch and radiated controlled panic, apologizing for bothering him and asking if he could stay with them. Lex had walked slowly into the house with his hands in his pockets, quiet as Dad left to find something and Mom smiled faintly. She’d patted Lex’s arm and led him upstairs, while Clark shuffled to the living room and stared at the glassy silence of the television screen. He heard the door to his bedroom open with that telltale creak of the lower hinge and bit his lip for a second, hoping that nothing horribly embarrassing was within obvious view. Clark wasn’t going to win any prizes for good housekeeping, something that his mother often told him with an amused smile. 

A gravelly sounding harrumph brings Clark back to the serious look on his dad’s face as he steps past the couch and reaches down, patting Clark’s shoulder. “Get some sleep,” he advises gruffly, heading toward the stairs. 

Clark considers the tension in the lines around Dad’s eyes, the reminder that he should play it safe and keep his secrets. He moves to rest on his back, scratching slowly at a spot just above his navel. The room darkens as his father hits the light switch, and Clark studies the ceiling thoughtfully. He hears his mother drain the water in the sink and climb the stairs after his father. Their footsteps shuffle overhead as they go to bed, and then the quiet of the house descends slowly around him. 

When he was younger, Clark remembers listening carefully to everything around him when he couldn’t sleep. It was somehow soothing after strange dreams of dark and confined places, whirring sounds, bright flashing lights, and crashes. 

He settles into the pillows, yanks the blankets up over him, and closes his eyes. The sounds around him drift lazily into his thoughts, and he identifies them. His own breathing and the low hum of the refrigerator. A slight rumble as the furnace kicks on, blowing warm air gently over his face. The house creaks a little at night, the muted protests of an old, arthritic building at the end of another day. There’s a tree that scratches the living room window, and a tiny fluttering sound from the second floor that Clark considers for a moment and can’t identify. His father’s heartbeat is uneven, two slow thumps and a quicker third. It worries him, more than he cares to admit. His mother’s heart beats steadily, quietly. He can hear the ticking of his father’s watch, the chime and click of the clock that sits on their dresser. 

There’s a new heartbeat, one that is at the same time strange and familiar. It draws his attention, soothing and strong, a determined rhythm. It is easy to fall into it, to breathe with it. Clark loops an arm beneath his head, his shoulders easing into the pillow. He can feel sleep creeping closer, a wooziness stealing around his thoughts and closing them down one by one. He is vaguely aware of Lex’s heartbeat speeding up and becoming uneven, as he gives in to sleep.

He dreams of nothing, and of everything. Curling around images of the sky, of clouds and his father is the frenzied beat of Lex’s heart, racing and then gradually settling again into a soothing and determined rhythm. 

Sunlight tints the insides of Clark’s eyelids a dull red, warming the arm that he flings across his face. He sits up, blinking and wondering why his father didn’t wake him up. There’s a broken fence to repair in the back paddock, and the most likely suspect is a retired dressage horse they are boarding that is now favoring its left front leg. Clark stumbles off the couch and heads upstairs, stopping as he reaches the open door of his bedroom. Lex is gone, the bed made. The piles of clothing on the floor have been pushed aside to make a small path from the door to the bed. He grins sheepishly and ducks into the bathroom to brush his teeth, running a hand over his hair. It only takes a few minutes to find clothes and pull them on, to notice the fading scent of Lex’s cologne that still lingers in his bedroom. Clark wonders where he has gone and grabs his jacket from the floor, running downstairs to find out.

He can hear his parents’ voices in the kitchen; see the tension coiling around his mother’s eyes when he reaches the bottom of the stairs. 

“Anyone seen Lex?”

“Yeah, he’s out in the barn,” his dad responds calmly, and continues when Clark stares at him, surprised for a moment. “Well, he got up at the crack of dawn, and insisted on doing some chores to earn his keep while he’s here.”

Clark knows this game, the one that farmers chuckle over at the feed store. He pockets an apple from the counter and eyes his dad. “Oh, you’ve got him mucking out the stalls already, huh?”

“Yes,” his father answers, laughing. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” It isn’t a question. There aren’t many times that Clark’s parents have disappointed him, but it _hurts_ when they do. 

“Yeah,” his dad answers, “Hey, son. All kidding aside, I don’t want you to forget that he did investigate you for a year. And remember what’s in the storm cellar.”

“Dad, I trust Lex.” Clark looks at him for a moment, wishing he didn’t have to explain this again.

“Clark, I don’t want him left alone on this farm,” his dad answers, and the urge to say something back pushes Clark out of the door. 

He pauses for a moment on the porch, taking a deep breath. Like the generations of farmers before him, his dad shares a deep distrust of anyone who doesn’t earn their money through physical sweat and effort. Lex offering to do chores is probably a way to handle that, and also to get out of the house and away from Dad’s stare of disapproval. There is not much else that Lex _could_ do, aside from help Mom with the ledger, and Clark is certain that she would barricade herself in the flower shop with Nell before she’d surrender the books to anyone else. 

He steps down to the heady scent of the yard waking up beneath the sun, pushing his father’s words of caution to the back of his thoughts. The horse eyes him warily from the fence, the cows clustering at the opposite edge of the paddock and studying the horse with placid expressions of contempt. Clark digs a hand into his pocket, producing the apple that he snatched from the kitchen counter. The horse switches its tail and takes a step back as Clark approaches the fence. He sets the apple carefully on top of one of the posts and backs away. The horse reaches in and nips it off, nickering with soft appreciation. Clark heads for the barn, a low complaint chasing after him from one of the cows that is answered by a derisive snort from the horse. 

He can hear the busy sounds of a pitchfork as he reaches the barn door, greeted by the musky-sour tang of manure and a flash of guilt. Lex is working over the stall that is a temporary home to the horse. A constant drag and scrape of the pitchfork joins the sound of straw dropping into a wheelbarrow. Clark pauses to wonder if there is anything that Lex can’t do with alarming competence, aside from charming small town farmers. 

“Well, I was going to give you some tips, but it looks like you have everything under control,” Clark jokes as he steps in.

Lex grunts, pitching another pile of straw into the wheelbarrow. “My family had a ranch in Montana. I used to go there in the summers with my mom.” 

It’s another tiny piece of Lex that floats into the space between them and fits into the others that Clark is hoarding. Lex’s heartbeat is fast, bouncing in his chest as he works. It tugs faintly at Clark’s memory and he leans back against a bale of straw, watching Lex work. He isn’t ready to tell Lex that his heartbeat is soothing. 

“Sounds like fun.”

Lex wipes a hand across his face and turns toward Clark. “We would work right alongside the ranch hands. Everyone did their fair share. It was the only time I felt normal.” Clark thinks about Lex on a ranch, working and feeling normal. 

“Did you ever go back?”

“After my mother died, my father sold the property. I guess you could say he was never a man of the people.” Hearing about Lex’s mother dying clenches something in Clark’s chest, and makes him think of the uneven beat of his father’s heart and how much that worries him. He fidgets uneasily, toying with his jacket’s buttons, watching Lex cross the barn and grab a bale of hay almost as big as he is.

Clark pushes up, “Let me give you a hand with that.” He wonders if he can convince Lex to let him carry it.

“Thanks Clark, but I’d like to prove to your father once and for all that some Luthors pull their own weight.” 

It still surprises Clark that anyone could think differently, remembering Lex weighed down by folders in the Beanery. Lex releases the hay and stands, facing Clark. His grin is one that Clark has never seen before, and this surprises him. Lex is _happy_. 

It drowns out everything else, makes him stop, and makes him stare. It feels like something that should be announced, that he should drag Dad and the farmers into the barn and point at Lex, point out how wrong they are. He just smiles instead, and hides this away with all the other pieces of Lex in his head. 

Lex eyes him curiously, and Clark thinks of embarrassing confessions like listening to Lex’s heartbeat or wanting him to grin like that for a room of farmers, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. 

“Breakfast. I should go,” he mutters, ducking his head and retreating back to the kitchen and his mother, the aroma of coffee and the safety of toast.

~~~

Afternoon concludes, evening sneaking across the sky in shades of deepening blue. Clark leans against one of the posts of the fence, watching the night roll in. The horse steps to the fence beside him, hungry for more apples or maybe just his company. Clark reaches up slowly and the horse remains still, watchful. The sound of the kitchen door draws his attention, and Lex steps out onto the porch, jogging down the steps and crossing the yard. The horse moves away and Lex pauses, studying Clark and the retreating horse curiously.

“Am I interrupting?” 

“No,” Clark answers, glancing down at the scuffed toes of his boots for a moment before returning his attention to Lex.

“A week for housing fugitives?” Lex asks, and Clark can imagine his mother telling Lex about the trials and tribulations in being the former dressage horse of a wealthy and shrewish woman. 

“Something like that,” Clark smiles, and Lex takes the last few steps and leans into the fence, studying the darkening paddock. 

“Thanks,” he says, quietly.

“Anytime,” Clark replies, and he means it, more than he could possibly describe. Lex’s heartbeat answers him, quiet and steady. 

~~~

Clark rolls to his side, bunching the pillow into a slightly more comfortable lump. He breathes out a gust of air and studies the leather of the couch, slowly switching into X-Ray and examining the wooden frame and the thin wire mesh around it. The house groans quietly, uncomfortable in the gusts of wind that send branches scratching furiously at the window. Clark takes another deep breath and closes his eyes, searching until he finds that same, steady rhythm in his bedroom. He pushes his face into the pillow and takes another deep breath. The tightness in his shoulders escapes along with the exhaled air. Lex’s heartbeat comforts him, for reasons that still leave him uneasy and hopeful that this is one of those things that Lex will never figure out. 

He is almost asleep when the heartbeat speeds up suddenly, and Clark opens an eye and pulls back from the lure of dreams. He can hear Lex breathing now, quick and troubled, paced with the pounding dissonance of his heart. Clark props himself on an elbow and rakes his fingers through his hair, weighing reasons that he would go upstairs. An almost inaudible and terrified sound sends him from the couch to the stairs, glancing up into the dark and gripping the railing. Lex’s heartbeat matches the urgent sound of Clark’s feet against the steps, the fumbling of his thoughts as he decides that the use of the bathroom is as good a reason as any. 

His bedroom door is open slightly and Clark holds his breath beside it, waiting. He can hear the rustle of sheets as Lex fights against sleep, the hisses of his breath. 

“Lex?” Clark offers cautiously, pushing the door open and wincing slightly at the creak of the hinge. 

He can see Lex sit up from the blankets, hear him suck in a breath and let it out slowly. “Clark?” 

“I heard,” Clark begins, and then decides that this is not the time for confessions of any kind, at least not any from him. “Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” Lex’s voice is tense; his arms folding over his chest as he leans back into the headboard of the bed. “I’m fine.”

“Ok,” Clark answers and knows that this is the part where he leaves and goes back to bed. It should be easy, but it isn’t. “I… ok. See you tomorrow. Night.”

“Night,” Lex replies from the dark room, and Clark is sure that his imagination paints that to be more wistful than it really is. He closes the door and pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he whispers to the door and he walks back down the steps carefully, returning to the safety of the couch.

He wrestles in frustration with the pillow, glancing up at the ceiling. Sleep sneaks away and mocks him from a distance with sneering grins and laughter. Clark heaves a sigh and closes his eyes, focusing on breathing. He struggles and then gives in, listening to the agitated pace of Lex’s heart. He bites his lip briefly and takes another deep breath. Lex’s voice is a surprise, quiet and angry, harsh in the silence of the house. It berates him, demanding calm, telling him that it was just a dream. It sounds like Lionel in Lex’s voice, unsettling Clark enough that he stops listening.

He can’t find another excuse to go upstairs and he eventually falls asleep to dreams of fretful things that enclose him and take him away from his home. 

~~~

Breakfast is uneasy, and the dark circles beneath Lex’s eyes worry Clark. He chases ineffectively after cereal with his spoon and listens to the radio promise a storm. Dad’s gone, retreating to the barn almost as soon as breakfast finished, saying something about fixing the tractor. Mom’s in the living room, a faint rustle of paper suggesting that she is reading. Lex nurses a cup of coffee, staring blankly ahead at nothing. 

“Lex?” Clark decides that anything is better than the stilted quiet.

“Mm?” Lex glances at him, seeming almost surprised for a moment that he is there. 

“You look tired.” Clark hopes that will start something, because that was his one idea.

Lex studies him for a moment, and then nods. “I am.”

“You don’t have to-” Clark begins, and Lex’s glare silences him. _You don’t have anything to prove. Not to me._

“Yes. I do,” Lex answers, and pushes up from the chair, leaving behind the ripples in his coffee cup and the slam of the kitchen door. 

~~~

The farm is not a large place and yet somehow, Clark finds himself two steps behind Lex when he can find him at all, watching him working but unable to get any closer. Dad directs them to repair a weak spot in a fence and feed the cows, giving Clark pointed looks when he moves a little too quickly or lifts something heavier than he should. Lex works silently, sweat glistening on his skin. 

Lunch passes quickly, with Lex chewing slowly and methodically. Clark notices the winces, almost invisible when Lex moves. He’d wonder what Lex is trying to prove, but he already knows.

The afternoon passes in a silent battle between Clark and his father, fought with pointed looks over Lex’s bent back and gloved hands, the sweaty triangle that stains his shirt. His dad’s face sours and he heads for the house, reminding Clark that dinner will be soon. 

The barn welcomes them with its shade and a low whinny from the horse. Clark grabs a bucket and fills it with water, replenishing the horse’s supply as Lex studies the printed sheet of instructions for feeding and exercise. Clark pauses, rubbing his palms over the top edge of the stall door as Lex measures out grain into a bucket. 

“I have them too,” Clark confesses to the horse. Lex grunts from somewhere beside him, followed by the sound of grain falling into a trough.

“Have what?” he asks.

“Nightmares.” 

“Oh,” Lex answers, and the silence is uneasy. “Clark-“

“Lex-“

A pause, and Clark waits.

“Go ahead,” Lex says, pulling off his gloves and studying them intently.

“I’m here,” Clark offers hesitantly, “If you want to talk about it.”

“Thanks,” Lex replies, crossing the barn to break open a bale of hay, returning with armloads for the horse. He studies Clark for a moment. 

“We should go eat,” he says, and Clark feels something tighten inside his chest, raw and frustrated. He watches the horse sniff at the hay with noisy snorts of exhaled air. 

“You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Lex walks out of the barn and Clark stares at his hands for a minute, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He finds a cube of sugar in his pocket, holding it out on the flat of his palm. The horse stares at him for a moment and then takes it with a huff of moist air against his skin. Clark smiles faintly as the tension eases inside his chest, and heads for the house.

~~~

The radio’s promise is kept, and Clark listens to the rain beating steadily against the windows. The furnace hums to life, warming the air around him. He breathes a sigh and wrestles with the pillow, patting it down beneath his head. The house is mostly quiet, just occasional creaks and shifts. His father’s heart is calm and still gently irregular, settling into the rhythm of his mother’s. Clark closes his eyes and gives in, listening to the racing heartbeat and jagged breath from Lex. He fidgets and opens his eyes, willing himself to stay where he is. He mulls over the idea that this happened the first night too, and wonders what visits Lex in his dreams. 

He pushes up to sit, rubbing his hand through his hair. The stairs beckon him, silent and solemn in the darkness. Clark stubbornly resists them, studying his hands, occasionally darting worried glances toward the ceiling as he hears Lex wake up, the sound of his voice berating himself, and it digs into Clark until he pushes up off the couch. He decides he wants a glass of water but pauses at the stairs, looking up. 

The creak of the first step under his feet is a confession, the second mocks him, and he ignores the third. Clark steps carefully up and stops at the dark hallway, taking a deep breath. His bedroom door is closed, and he knocks softly, cautiously. The sound of the rain against the roof lessens. Silence answers, and then he hears Lex’s voice.

“Come in,” it says, quiet and a little defeated.

Clark opens the door and lingers there, folding his arms awkwardly across his chest. The rain stops tapping against the windows. “Hey,” he offers to the silent room. 

“I’m fine,” Lex snaps, and then after a tense pause, he adds. “I’m fine,” and his voice is softer. Clark studies his feet.

“I,” Clark pauses awkwardly, “wanted to go for a walk. Can’t sleep. I was wondering if you wanted to go too. For a walk.”

The room is quiet, and then he hears Lex shifting on the bed, the sound of his feet meeting the floor. “Yeah,” he answers. 

Lex crosses the room, grabbing for something in the dark and then he is standing in the doorway with a shirt bunched in his fists. Clark backs away a step, staring down at the floor. He can hear the rustle of cloth as Lex pulls the shirt on.

The house is quiet in the calm after the storm, and they head outside from the kitchen. The air smells sweet and clean, the grass damp and stretching out ahead of them. Clark steps down to it and glances back as Lex follows him. They walk in silence, crossing the yard and moving toward the fields. Lex clears his throat. 

“There are Norse legends that say bad dreams are caused by a demonic being,” Lex’s voice is quiet, as if he is telling a story. Clark considers this and wonders what he should say. Lex stops. 

“Lex?”

“I dream about Julian,” Lex’s voice admits, sounding haunted in the night air.

Clark stops and stares at him, something fragile venturing into the open air between them. 

“I’m standing at his crib,” Lex continues, his voice uneven and hoarse. “He’s crying. There’s a pillow in my hands.”

Clark bites his lip hard, fighting off chills. 

“I’m clutching it, so hard that my hands hurt. There is this… _thing_ around me. Dark and intangible. It,” Lex hesitates. “I push the pillow down. Into the crib. On his face. I can’t stop. I wake up when it covers his face.”

Lex rubs a hand over his head and laughs, shaky and bitter. Clark listens, forcing himself to stand there and fight the urge to hug him. Lex looks at him, his face utterly calm except for the miserable look in his eyes, his heartbeat rapid and shallow. Clark takes a deep breath, willing it to calm him.

“It was just a dream,” he offers, quietly.

“I know,” Lex answers. He rubs his arms, glancing around.

“Are you cold?” Clark asks, and Lex nods his agreement. They turn, and Clark can see the house waiting for them. It’s a surprise when he realizes that it’s the last place he wants to be. 

“I… we could look at the stars. Or something,” he says, knowing he is blushing. Lex smirks, a distant expression that finds this all somewhat amusing. Clark heads for the barn, hearing Lex follow him. 

The barn looms over them and Clark steps inside, darting up the steps to his loft and grabbing a pile of blankets. He descends and stops, watching as Lex tilts his head, glancing at the horse. It nickers softly at him, and Lex’s hand rises slowly, brushing gently over the horse’s nose. 

“I have blankets,” Clark says.

Lex glances over his shoulder at him. “Ok.”

~~~

The grass is still damp, but Clark has a plan and enough blankets to make it work. He drops to rest on his back, Lex reclining beside him. The sky is vast, twinkling with stars as the clouds move away. Clark pillows his head on his arms and stares, wondering again which star is his. There is a faint one, nestled in a group of brighter stars that somehow feels like home. 

Lex shifts beside him, bunching the blanket beneath his head. “Are we looking for anything specific?” he asks, sounding curious and amused. 

“Stars,” Clark answers, stifling a grin. He can feel Lex’s smirk and hear the beat of his heart settling into a steady rhythm, mingling with the crickets.

“I gathered. What about them?” 

Clark shrugs against the blanket, “Farmers invented constellations. For crops, so they could keep track of the seasons in places where the weather didn’t change very much. Since different constellations are visible at different times of the year, you can use them to tell what month it is. The farmers made up the names and myths to help them remember which constellations were visible, and when. It helped them keep track.” 

Lex makes a pleasant, thoughtful sound, as if he is considering this information and deciding how useful it is. 

Clark drags an arm away from his head and points up at the faint star. “I like that one,” he offers. “The pale one.”

Lex makes a vaguely agreeing noise, sounding as if he’s getting sleepy. Clark breathes a contented sigh and drops his arm, wincing as he feels the side of his hand connect with Lex’s head and hears a surprised grunt.

“I- sorry,” he stammers, rolling to his side and examining Lex cautiously. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, unable to stop talking. “I- you’re okay, right?”

“I’m fine,” Lex replies, amusement residing in his eyes. 

“There could be mental damage,” Clark points out, only half-joking.

Lex’s answering laugh is unexpected, as sweet as the night air around them, and Clark wants to hear it again. “I’ll sue,” he drawls lazily, staring at Clark with a gleam in his eyes. “I’ll take you for all you’re worth.”

It changes then, the space between them shrinking away. There are _lists_ of reasons that he shouldn’t do this. Very good reasons. Clark ignores all of them and leans in closer, closing his eyes just before he brushes his mouth against Lex, quick and chaste and terrified.

He pulls away and blinks a few times, staring down at the blanket. It has an interesting pattern, lines criss-crossing beneath his arm. Clark wonders, desperately, where they all go. He has no idea what to say now, his mind fumbling with excuses that are more and more ridiculous. He takes a deep breath and peers up at Lex, still trying to decide how to explain this away.

Lex is just _looking_ at him, one eyebrow up as if he’s not quite sure what the hell that was either, combined with an unspoken dare in the arch of his eyebrow.

He kisses Lex again, and this time Lex kisses him back, planting his hands on Clark’s arms, holding him there. It’s strange to realize in a heady moment of lips and tongues that _this_ is what he wants, hearing the beat of Lex’s heart and _feeling_ it getting faster. To think that in all the secrets he keeps, this is one that maybe he can tell, and maybe he _should_. Clark drapes an arm over Lex’s side and closes the circuit, uttering a soft whimper into Lex’s mouth that explains everything. He thinks of the pieces of Lex in his mind, moments in time that fit together, and this one fits too. 

Lex’s hands dig into his back, kneading and touching as Lex presses against him suddenly. Clark gives in, falling back on the blanket and pulling Lex with him. Lex’s hands brush down his ribs, rubbing against his hips, leaving trails in Clark’s mind that glow red like fire. He kisses harder, pushing up and saying it’s ok, all of this is ok. This fits too. Lex’s answer is a soft growl, a quick bite at the corner of Clark’s jaw. 

Clark arches up when Lex’s hand slips beneath his shirt and tugs it up, his mouth dropping to Clark’s chest. Clark whimpers and gently pushes Lex away, catching his breath. Lex stares at him, curious and hungry in ways that Clark is beginning to understand. 

“Second thoughts?” he asks, his voice husky and questioning.

“Clothes,” Clark points out, tugging in hasty frustration at his shirt and wrestling it over his head. The cloth drags against his face, and when it’s gone, Lex kisses him again. Clark freezes and kisses him back, his arms tangled overhead in his shirt. 

He makes a tiny protesting noise, chased by the sound of tearing. Lex laughs against his ear and he turns into it, kissing along Lex’s chin to his mouth. Lex’s hand brushes lightly down Clark’s stomach, the calluses tingling against his skin. Clark pulls him closer, tangling into his kisses, his hands gripping at Lex’s back, gliding down to his ass. 

Lex grinds into him, and everything becomes hazy with energy and need, hands pulling at his pants until they are gone, and he can feel all of Lex against him now, hard lines and smooth skin, sweat and quick bites along his jaw. It winds Clark up tightly; soft whimpers and louder moans. Lex is moving against him, _with_ him, husky breath and urgent grinding, his cock hard against him, friction and desire pulling them together. Clark’s breath catches in his throat, his mouth falling open with a strangled sound, his body rising up off the blankets. Lex’s hands are in his hair, Lex’s mouth kissing the side of his neck, making encouraging sounds that urge him on until he comes, wet and sticky on Lex’s stomach. Clark collapses back to the blankets, catching his breath, burying his face in Lex’s throat. He wraps a hand around Lex’s cock, riding out the moans that rumble in Lex’s throat, low and needy and breathless as Lex shudders and comes.

Something changes, in between panted breath and calming heartbeats. Clark considers it, deciding that it can remain unspoken. He’s different, and still the same. Clark opens his eyes, drinking in the flush that stains Lex’s face, the heaving of his chest. Night sounds venture back toward him. Lex’s mouth curves into a faint smile and he moves away from Clark, rolling to rest on his back. 

Clark thinks again about what has changed and then pushes it aside. Lex’s breathing is calm and even, accompanied by the steady beat of his heart. Clark glances at him, closed eyes and looking strangely exposed in a way that has nothing to do with clothes or the lack of them. Clark finds a blanket and pulls it up over him. 

Lex’s hand catches his, takes the blanket away. He smirks faintly, and Clark ducks his head, grinning. He isn’t used to this, to somebody who can take care of himself. Somebody that wants to. He thinks maybe he could get used it, maybe he _should_. 

_Except_. Clark takes a deep breath. 

“I’m here. You know, in case it happens again.” 

Lex’s eyes study him for a moment before they close. “I know,” he answers. 

Clark pillows his cheek against his arm, muffling a yawn with the back of his hand. It’s enough. He drifts into sleep, lulled by the steady, determined rhythm of Lex’s heart; almost certain that he can hear the mellow sound of a horse’s whinny from the barn.


End file.
